Bite
by Love Like Homicide
Summary: Michael notices something on Mike's neck, something that looks like a hickey. Michael/Mike.


**Letter 'B' in my ABCs of Goth series (AO3 series, individual stories on here). **

**Why does no one else like my OTP? :'(**

* * *

'What do you think you're doing?'

Mike jumped in his seat. He looked up and found Michael standing behind him, his figure hazy from the cloud of smoke that surrounded him and seeped towards the desk, engulfing them both in a stormy fog. He would have found it beautiful if it weren't for the hot, bitter smell of tobacco. 'I'm sitting in my seat, per se,' he said, lisping slightly around the plastic canines, and pointed to the paper taped to the desk.

Michael took a moment to register Mike's name on one side of the double desk, and then his own on the other, at his usual spot. 'What the hell,' he said, slowly, his voice laced with contempt.

'It seems the teacher has implemented a new seating plan.'

Michael stubbed out his cigarette on Mike's book bag, making the boy wonder, not for the first time, why the school didn't have fire alarms. 'There is no way I'm sitting with some douchey vamp-kid.'

Mike frowned. 'Why does it matter, it's not like you ever come to class anyway?'

Michael glared but said nothing. He didn't want to argue that he had, indeed, been to every class this semester and sat at this very desk at the back of the room, because then Mike would think he cared what he thought. He also didn't want to tell Mike why he had been coming to class, about the threats the school had made to keep him back, because then the straight-A student would know just how bad he was really doing. He couldn't afford to fail ninth grade, not when he was so close to getting out of this school.

The teacher strolled in, all smiles, and ordered everyone to take their assigned seats. Michael sighed, muttered a defeated 'whatever', and sat down.

The class began and the Goth found himself growing progressively more irritated by the other boy. He could feel Mike's eyes on him, only to glance away mere moments before being caught. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining it, that there was no way Mike cared about what he was doing, and he was just paranoid. He was supposed to be a nihilist, him and his friends didn't care about anything or anyone outside of their little group, yet the thought of someone thinking otherwise, knowing that he cared about his grades and what his teachers said, horrified him. As time passed, he found himself taking fewer and fewer notes, until he was no longer even holding his pencil. He still sensed Mike looking at him, but he felt better knowing his facade was back in place. He considered the consequences of lighting up a new cigarette in the middle of the lesson, just to drive the point home. Probably suspension. Maybe he should save that until later in the year.

He decided that, instead of getting himself into trouble, he would challenge Mike. When the boy next looked at him, he looked back. He didn't catch his eyes, once again too slow for that, but he continued staring. He wanted to make him squirm. As his eyes raked over the boy who was already beginning to twitch, he noticed something on the crook of Mike's neck, reaching up to just above his shirt collar.

'Dude,' he started, and finally Mike met his eyes. 'Is that a hickey?'

Mike's ears turned red and he spun to the side, a finger to his lips. 'Not so loud,' he whispered.

Michael raised an eyebrow. 'Seriously?'

Mike put a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with one of the Goths, of all people. 'Yes, just, please don't say anything.'

Michael continued to watch him sceptically. 'Why would I? I don't give two shits about your sex life, I just can't believe one of those Brittany Spears wannabes would want to touch a faggot like you.'

Despite the insult, Mike was relieved that at least he didn't have to dodge any questions. 'Yeah.'

They both went back to their schoolwork, and Michael was pleasantly surprised to no longer have eyes on him, distracting him from whatever nonsense he needed to memorise for the next test.

Despite what he'd said, Michael couldn't help but find himself hyper aware of the actions and company of the Vampire leader. When they passed each other in the hallway he would do a quick scan of Mike's appearance, looking for anything particularly telling, and take note of his companions. He checked how close they each stood to him, their facial expressions, and who he saw with him the most often. He tried to stop himself, but it was impossible. This morbid curiosity he had developed got the best of him, and he couldn't stop wondering about Mike's relationships.

He confided in his friends, who were suitably disgusted with him, but helpful nonetheless.

'So, do you, like, want to fuck him?' Pete asked, then cringed like he was trying not to throw up at the thought.

Michael choked on his coffee, spitting it across the table and earning a glare from their waitress, who made no move to come over and clean it up. The night staff at the Village Inn were always the rudest, but at least they didn't hassle them as much about ordering food. 'No way. I just want to know who he's messing around with, that's it.'

Pete didn't look convinced. 'But why?'

'I don't know, arsehole. I just, I don't know.' He sighed and took another, more controlled, sip of his drink.

Henrietta groaned and threw her cigarette bud at him. 'If you ask me, you need stop being such a pussy and just bite this guy yourself. Who cares if you actually want him or not? It's obvious you just want to know what it's like to bite a vampire.'

'But, what if he thinks that means I like him?'

She glared. 'Since when do we care what wannabe vampires think of us?'

Michael nodded. 'Fine, I'll do it.'

'Good,' Pete said, 'now let's never fucking talk about this again.'

Henrietta and Firkle nodded.

He really did have great friends.

They were in their assigned seats again. Mike didn't look at him when he sat down, nor did he when the class started. He hadn't felt Mike so much as glance at him since they last spoke. He looked himself, though. He didn't try to hide the way he stared at Mike - in fact, he wanted it to be noticed. He wanted him to wonder what he was thinking. About halfway through the class Mike peeked at him from the corner of his eye, and Michael smirked. They held that contact for a few long seconds before Mike visibly swallowed and turned away.

When class ended Mike was ready to get the hell out of there. The way Michael looked at him filled him with a sense of foreboding, like there was a noose hanging around his neck and he just couldn't see it yet. He didn't get far though, because as soon as he reached the door long, spindly fingers wrapped around his lower-arm and pulled him down a different hall to his locker. 'Wh-what?' he sputtered.

'We need to talk,' was all Michael said, and he felt the noose tighten. Not since the Scottsdale incident in sixth grade had he felt any sort of fear towards the Goth kids, but now he was realising how stupid he'd been. They were fucking terrifying.

Michael enjoyed the fear in Mike's eyes, the stiffness in his muscles, and the way his voice shook so much he couldn't even protest. It was all such an overreaction, but he knew it came from their history together, a history that he intended to complicate. He didn't know how Mike was going to feel about what he was planning to do, but he looked forward to finding out. He wasn't a sadist, there was just something about the Vamp-kid that made him want to wrap even their most pleasant interactions up in a wrapper of fear.

He dragged Mike out a thick side door into the loading bay, which had been empty since last year when the Goths moved their hang-out into the parking lot, beside Henrietta's car. He pushed him up against the metal roller-door, one hand on his chest and the other pulling down the neck of his shirt. He felt the heat radiating through Mike's Twilight sweater, his heavy breath ghosting his face, and the glint of white inside his mouth. Finally, he realised what he really wanted. He let go of him and pulled down his own collar. 'Bite me,' he demanded.

Mike stared at him - his serious face, his angry eyes, and white, unblemished shoulder - and didn't know what to do. This was a strange request, even to a pretend Vampire, and he was afraid that any reaction might be the wrong one. If he refused, it might anger Michael. If he agreed, he might be falling into a trap. Still, he couldn't deny that Michael was attractive, and he had that dark, brooding look that originally drew him to Edward Cullen and Vampires as a whole. Michael began to frown, and Mike made up his mind.

He nodded his head and swallowed. 'Okay.'

Michael smirked and tilted his head slightly. He sucked in a breath when he felt Mike's hot mouth on his skin, less than an inch from his jugular. The sensation was strange and uncomfortably wet, but when he bit down properly Michael nearly lost his footing, and the sharp stab of those plastic fangs carving into his skin harder than the actual teeth, sent a buzzing down his spine. He was hyper-aware of every movement the body against his made, every twitch of his tongue, the quick, hot breaths blowing over the back of his neck and making the hair stand up. He moaned.

At the sound, Mike pulled back. He wanted to go further, do more, so he knew he had to stop right there before he humiliated himself. Michael looked just as red and flustered as he, himself, felt, and there was a bruise forming on his neck with two particularly noticeable indentations around the top, which filled him with pride. He was about to apologise and excuse himself to the rest room to do exactly what the Goth would assume, when he was grabbed by the hair and pulled in for a messy kiss. Michael tasted like smoke and stale coffee, and his lips were chapped, but it was still the best kiss he'd ever had. Michael kissed with a violent desperation he hadn't gotten from any of his exes.

Michael didn't think about what he was doing, he just did it because it felt right. Oh God did it feel right. Mike's skin was soft and sensitive and he arched into every little touch. It wasn't something he got from the guys at the clubs or Pete when they messed around, it came from sexual inexperience and naivety. He was going to destroy that.

They walked into class together the following week. Mike couldn't stop grinning at the blue and purple mark on Michael's neck, which he made no attempt to cover. On the contrary, the Goth had taken to leaving the top button of his white shirt open just so everyone could see what had been done to him. They pulled their seats close together and made sure to brush against each other as much as possible while taking notes. The Goth even went so far as to run his hand up Mike's side during role-call, making him gasp and blush while the rest of the class laughed at them.

Michael, at Pete's request, had not told his friends about the new developments between him and Mike, though he was sure they'd figured it out. Still, no one objected, and he was grateful. He wouldn't say they were dating, but the kisses they shared during breaks were more than just lust, and he didn't mind sitting with him in class anymore. He enjoyed the other's company, and his body, and everything else conformist claimed to like about their partners.

Mike, on the other hand, did consider Michael his boyfriend, and he was quite vocal about it, although Michael pretended not to hear him. He'd even introduced him to some of his loyalist minions, who the Goth was scathing as hell to, but that was expected.

'Michael,' he whispered.

Michael glanced at him. 'Yeah?'

'What did you get for question 2?'

Michael slid his worksheet across the table.

Mike looked it over and giggled. 'That can't be right.'

'No shit.'

'Do you want to come over and study after school?'

The Goth shrugged, but didn't try to hide his smirk.


End file.
